The Medals in the Box
by UnderTheTableAndDreaming
Summary: THEN: Emily is in Las Vegas after deciding to continue her pregnancy. When Damon shows up, they will have to decide if they really have a future together. NOW: Cody Kmetko is a regular high school student with a dream. Will he have the guts to pursue it? Follows Requiem for a Dream, but also post season 3. Includes an OC.
1. Sigh No More

THEN

Sigh No More

"Love it will not betray you, dismay or enslave you / It will set you free /

Be more like the man you were made to be"

- Mumford & Sons

Damon Young stepped off the bus into sun-cooked desolation. At least, that was his first impression of Las Vegas. The Strip, somehow smaller and more careworn in the harsh evening sunlight, glimmered in the distance. It didn't look like he had imagined it would. He was in Las Vegas, but nowhere near the center of things. He was in a place filled with limitless possibilities, but he wasn't headed to casinos and girls. This was frankly never the scenario in Damon's mind when he thought of Las Vegas.

Damon pulled a wrinkled post it from his back pocket and compared it to his phone to figure out where he was going. Somewhere in the heart of the real Vegas, in the rugged and bent wasteland of crumbling strip malls and wilted streets lights was Emily. Every step that brought him closer to the address on the faded paper brought lead to his feet. He didn't know what to feel, what he was allowed to feel.

Deep down, deeper than Damon would admit to, this walk seemed to him to be the final free hours before the guillotine. It felt like an ending, not a beginning. Not the great things they had wanted for each other. Not anything but cold duty for a cold girl who he had been moving on from, who he thought wanted nothing to do with him. If he even wanted to be dragged back in. The guilt mixed with confusion, more potent than the liquor he'd gotten sick on at fifteen with Razor and the guys.

He didn't know who he was, who this guy was, standing on a cracked sidewalk across the street from an adobe half wall that had whole chunks missing. The front yard was long ago lost to desert weeds. Damon knew it was the right place by the peeling paint stenciled at the curb, but he couldn't make himself cross the street, walk up to the gate, hop the fence, trudge through the weeds, knock on the door.

How would it play out? He'd apologize? She'd take him back? He'd be the good and dutiful boyfriend and father for the rest of his life? How she could think this was what happily ever after looked like. Damon was stuck in disbelief that this could be it. He couldn't make the choice. He couldn't go up to the door and knock. It would just be easier and better to let Emily make it for him. She already had, by leaving. All he had to do was go back to Boulder.

The front door cracked and Damon instinctively ducked back into the shadow. Emily, framed by the doorway's spilling light, didn't see the skulker in the shadows. She saw a poor street in a poor neighborhood lined with broken street lamps. As broken as she was.

Emily rubbed her hands up and down her arms, cold and calm. She closed the door behind her and all he could see was a silhouette. Her lithe, spare, strong gymnast's body drew him forward after all. But he paused. This wasn't strong Emily, who pushed and pulled and couldn't trust. Instead, her shoulders pitched forward, collapsing in on herself. Great gulping sobs tore through her armor. The girl who was always in control, who never gave in, was cracking into pieces before his eyes.

She slid down the length of the door, couching her head on her knees. Somehow this was worse, this intrusion on her most private moment. It softened things. She had cried in his arms once and he had been there for her. Couldn't he be enough for her? Damon had once thought happily ever after was being with Emily Kmetko. Maybe he could convince himself that was still true, for her.

Damon melted further into the dark, leaving Emily alone for now. He needed to think, now that he had seen Emily, he didn't know what he was doing. It was strangely off putting to think she might not want him to comfort her. He didn't know what he was doing.

The answer came with the sun and the return to warmth. Damon slouched in his chair at a 24 hour Laundromat, the only thing open for miles as far as he could tell. Emily's meltdown was still fresh. He knew now that no matter what she said about happy endings, this wasn't what she had in mind.

He hardly noticed the long walk back to Emily's place. It was easy walking. And with the adobe wall that came up to his waist easily sidestepped, he was exactly where he should be. It was what it was. Emily, as if he had ordered her, appeared in the doorway, barefoot with her pajamas and old t-shirt. She lugged a bag of trash down the porch stairs without noticing her visitor.

Damon took the bag out of Emily's hands. She had been looking down and couldn't help but jump. The surprise helped dispel the anger. Now the inevitable was here, all they had to decide was what to do with it.

As first, she didn't say anything. Each tested the other, unsure what direction they were heading.

An eternity in seconds later, Emily couldn't process. She couldn't come out of her daze.

"You came," she said, unsure if this was hope or condemnation.

Damon wasn't sorry. He wasn't sure how he felt. But he was ready.

"Yeah," he agreed, "I'm here."

Emily reached out, tentative, fingers against familiar shoulders and into Damon's embrace. It might have been smarter to walk away, but something unknotted, and she didn't want to hash it out. He was in this horrible place with her. That was what mattered. She didn't dare look beyond the impure comfort that's better than being alone.


	2. A Song Plays on the Radio

NOW

A Song Plays on the Radio

"Turn it off."

"But honey! It's your dad," Chloe Kmetko protested even as she swished and pranced the length of the worn Formica counter and clacked her long luridly painted nail on the off button.

She paused and turned back to get a good look at the solid dark haired sixteen year old taking up most of the space at the small kitchen table. Her heavy lidded and lined eyes were all confusion.

"You love listening to your dad's songs, especially when they get on the radio," Chloe said.

Cody's characteristic silence was answer enough. Chloe shrugged and clicked the radio off. She picked up the orange stick she had put down earlier and continued working on her nails. Cody bent lower, almost bringing his nose to the page of his biology textbook and wrinkled handout. All he had to do was match the bolded vocab word to the right definition. It wasn't exactly a challenge, but if Cody could look really engrossed, he thought maybe he could head off what was coming.

Chloe settled on a kitchen chair, smoothed down her just a bit too short animal print skirt and continued to scrutinize her nails.

"Well I just don't know. You always wanted to listen to your dad's songs. I mean when you were a kid, heck, we'd have to turn up the volume," Chloe reminisced, fully ignorant of Cody's stiffened posture.

Cody tried to immerse himself further into the last three definitions, but Chloe's friendly, high pitched chatter knew no barrier.

"And wasn't that your song? Let's turn it back on and see."

"No!"

Cody hadn't meant to sound that angry. He breathed and tried again.

"It doesn't matter. I'm done now anyways," Cody said, forcing even tones.

He really didn't want to show that he cared anything about the stupid song. Chloe threw up her hands.

"I thought you liked hearing Damon's songs," Chloe almost asked, almost stated.

Cody tightened the corners of his mouth to manufacture a smile and said, "I do, really, just needed to concentrate."

He gathered up his book and scattered paper.

"I'm going running," he called over his shoulder in the direction of the kitchen and the radio before executing a choreographed dance to get around the junk littering his bedroom floor.

Cody dropped the bio textbook on top of his backpacked and queued up the right playlist for running. One with absolutely no Damon Young.

Emily barely flinched when the too familiar voice thudded through the sound system of Mr. Pizza. The teenage girl at the counter liked this radio station. Emily Kmetko was too proud to say why she didn't. She kept her eyes trained on the spreadsheets, calculator, and checkbook. She still hated math, but now it was her business.

Every first Monday of the month, Emily parked herself in the small back office to engage in self-inflicted torture to balance the checkbook.

Carlie Jo, one of the girls who worked the cash register and delivered pizzas, had tied her oversized Mr. Pizza polo shirt tight across the waist of her short jeans. Emily had forgotten again to ask Carlie Jo not to do that.

Carlie Jo stuck her head in Emily's office.

"Do you want a slice, boss?" she asked.

Emily frowned at the calculator and shook her head. Carlie Jo wandered back to the front. It was just one of the oddities of her boss that Emily Kmetko managed a pizza place but never, ever ate a slice. Not even though Carlie Jo always offered to bring her some when she heard the calculator abuse start.

Carlie Jo really liked her prickly boss, but then the real perk of the job walked through the front glass door and Carlie Jo forgot all about the mother in favor of the son. Cody Kmetko slipped his ear buds into his pocket and slid his arm across the beads of sweat building up on his forehead. Tall, dark, handsome, loner, mysterious Cody Kmetko.

Carlie Jo leaned across the counter, strategically emphasizing the open buttons of her shirt.

"Hi Cody," Carlie Jo beamed.

Cody barely looked up from the panel of his iPod.

"Hey CJ," he mumbled before ducking into the back, where he knew his mom would be in a finances induced bad mood.

Cody shuffled past the office and into the bathroom to better wipe away the sweat from his run.

"You're late."

Cody crumpled up a damp paper towel and shot it into the waste packet.

"Yeah, I ran here."

Emily didn't respond, letting the rebuke pass. Running was a thing they shared.

Cody traded his t-shirt for a polo and returned to the front. Carlie Jo was waiting to pounce.

"Did you hear it on the radio?" she purred, watching Cody dig in to kneading bread dough.

She was used to Cody's strong and silent routine, so she didn't bother waiting for a response.

"I can't believe Damon Young is your dad. No wonder you're so cute."

Cody really wished Carlie Joe would stop talking. The song came back on. Cody knew it was Damon's most popular song and it was getting heavy play time like nothing else his father had done. In fact, Cody couldn't make it through a whole day without hearing that song multiple times.

"Mom, change the station?" he hollered.

The station changed without argument. That was their other bond. Mother and Son were the only two people in the world less than impressed with the ever aspiring rock star Damon Young.


	3. The Cave

THEN

The Cave

"I won't let you choke on the noose around your neck / And I will find strength in pain"

- Mumford & Sons

It was a simple scene, but no one knew quite what it was without giving it a name. That might ruin what was happening. So they focused on the minutia.

Damon in Grandma Bee's kitchen ran a plate under the faucet, before handing it off to Emily and her dry towel. They worked in rhythm to clear away the leftovers of the breakfast they'd made together. Enough time had passed for Damon to recognize the relief he felt in her reaction to his presence. She hadn't been affectionate. Damon noticed how she made a little obvious effort here and there to avoid physical contact, minus that first initial betrayal of what he suspected were her real feelings. Then again, she hadn't accused him or even mentioned Kaylie.

The past felt further away than a few days or 800 miles. It felt like they had always scrambled eggs and burned toast in the morning together. Emily ignored the surreal aspects. It could all go away too easily. She knew from seventeen years of observational experience, no matter what she might hope, that Damon might not stay. Better not to expect it. Safer.

When the last plate settled at the top of the pile on the shelf and with the last knife nestled back in the drawer, Emily turned back to Damon, who was drying his hands, and tried to be as upbeat as she didn't feel.

"What did you want to do today?" she asked, like he was just here to play the tourist.

His head cocked, leaning into his shoulder, so familiar and now so strange. Emily had to push away the realization he had done this for Kaylie too.

Damon shrugged. "What do you usually do?"

"Nothing yet. I mean, I haven't really explored Las Vegas," Emily tripped over the words, not wanting to reveal too much about the time she had spent mostly in bed.

"Okay," Damon pushed the awkward syllables to their maximum, "so we are going to explore."

Emily looked down. She hadn't changed clothes in a while.

"I've got to change," she said.

"No problem."

Emily left for a bedroom, leaving Damon to count out his contribution to the conversation and still he felt exactly at zero. Proceed with caution. He wandered to some asymmetrically hung pictures on the living room wall. Emily as a baby. Chloe her effervescent self. Emily's brother. A man he didn't recognize. A woman with frazzled bottle blond tips and a cigarette dangling from showy red lips hugging Emily and Brian.

"Hmph," someone scoffed behind Damon.

"You must be the idiot who knocked up my Emily."

Damon spun. The broad in the picture was now an undeniable presence.

"Emily's grandmother?" Damon asked, looking for his cool charm and not finding it anywhere.

"Damn straight. Call me Barb," the woman rasped, staring down Damon, "my lil' girl was going places. A real winner."

Damon felt the rebuke and didn't fight it. It was only what Emily should have said. Barb hadn't blinked, giving Damon the sense she knew everything.

"You play bingo?" she demanded.

Damon shook his head, trying to get sense back.

"I'm a real pro-fesh-ee-nul. Gotta know how to win," Barbara sized up the young man and seemed satisfied with what she saw, "You'll talk sense to her."

The old lady collected her plastic, shiny things and waddled out the door. Damon turned back to the pictures askew on the wall, waiting for the shower to end and the crash of drawers, and for Emily's eventual return.

She smelled sweet, a combination of vitality, lingering chalk dust, and something extra that took him back. He told himself to shrug off the grandma and enjoy this rare peace.

"Where do you want to go?" he asked.

"Yeah, I don't know. Grandma Bee, you met her? She left me her car. We could go out to the dam."

"The dam?" Damon was nonplussed.

"Okay, Lake Mead then."

"Agreed."

Emily plucked the keys from the hook and led Damon to the rusted, outdated, but functional VW.

"You sure this thing goes anywhere?" Damon was skeptical.

"Don't insult her. Lady VW will be sweet if you're nice."

Was this Emily Kmetko teasing him? Damon patted the hood.

"Sorry Lady VW. Lead on," he said.

They ended up on a sandy beach between bleached red rocks bleeding white. The sun was brutal and they took refuge in the rocks for what shade they could find. They settled in companionable silence. It seemed like the right time.

"You pointed your toes," Damon observed once they were sitting inches apart on the same rock.

"What?" Emily's nose wrinkled.

"When you hopped over, you pointed your toes," Damon insisted.

"So?"

"You're a gymnast."

Instantly, the easy silence changed and the wall went up.

"No," she answered.

"Yes. You're a gymnast. In fact, you're an elite gymnast, with a shot at going to the Olympics," Damon pressed.

"Not anymore," Emily was defiant, her stiff posture betraying how close to hysterics she really was.

"You're special Emily."

She glared at him. "I'm really not. Don't put that on me."

"What do you think I'm doing?"

Emily's eyes flashed. She was ready to lose it.

"You all put this pressure on me. I have to be special. I have to be better, work harder, follow the rules. Everyone's telling me what to do. Even you. Well now I quit," she drew her breath, having let out the flood.

"Emily," Damon lifted her face until they were looking straight at each other, "I don't want you to give up on yourself."

The warm touch of his knuckle under her chin couldn't convince her. Emily broke off from his gaze and touch.

"I'm giving up on being a gymnast, not on being myself."

"But that is what you are. You're an Olympic level gymnast. Gymnasts don't get pregnant Emily. Elite gymnasts don't have a baby with a guy like me."

Somehow he had to convince her.

"Guys like you?" Emily asked.

Damon said nothing.

"What are you afraid of?" she asked.

"Everything."

"I'm not anymore. I don't need gymnastics. I'm doing this."

Damon had run out of arguments, short of saying he wasn't ready to be a father. Maybe didn't even want to be a father. He couldn't say that. Damon sighed.

"You're sure this is what you want?" he asked.

Emily shrank into herself, magnifying the distance between them, as cold and distant as she could ever be.

"I get it. You're not interested."

Emily stood up and brushed her hands against her jeans.

"Don't worry, I don't expect anything from you," she said, "No guy stays."

Emily stomped away, back in the direction of the car. Damon internally fumed. Wasn't he always trying to prove he wasn't that guy? Not that Emily ever gave him the benefit of the doubt. And yet… This time did she have a point? She had come to him and he had let her down, was letting her down. He was that guy. Wasn't he?

Damon couldn't live with that knowledge. It propelled him forward, down a path he wasn't sure of, to go after Emily Kmetko one more time.

**A/N: Thanks for the nice comments so far. Reviews are appreciated. Constructive Crit is even better :)**


	4. A Song Played in an Auditorium

NOW

A Song Played in an Auditorium

"Dude, check this out," Charlie held out an illicit cell phone with a video loading.

When Cody took the phone, Charlie tugged at the black silk tie strangling his neck. Cody wanted to do the same with his ill-fitting and too formal concert band uniform, but time was of the essence here. Mr. Spaulding, band teacher and excellent candidate for drill sergeant, wouldn't be lenient if he saw a cell phone during warm up time.

Cody ducked his hand a little to use the drums as cover.

"Sick," Cody said and handed the phone back so Charlie could slide it back into his pocket and return to tapping relentlessly on the edge of the drums.

Being in the back, percussionists could get away with a lot, but Cody thought they'd maybe been pressing their luck as Spaulding popped up to give them the go ahead to move the instruments to the stage. Cody took one side of a timpani and Charlie another, so they could walk together down the ramp and into the next building.

"We should do a video. You could get invited. If you win the Drum Rumble, then you could compete nationally," Charlie was saying.

This wasn't new. Charlie was always saying stuff like this and as usual Cody mostly ignored his skinny friend who, despite a severe lack of muscle mass, played pretty well. They both liked drumming and that was essentially the subsistence of their friendship. That and a shared apathy for concert band and the fact it was required to be in marching band.

Cody slid the final piece into position before following the rest of the group to the band room for the final pep talk. Charlie was still stuck on Drum Rumble. Cody was still halfway listening, more into reviewing mentally what he had seen in Charlie's video – Sam Whistle who won last year. Cody's fingers itched and twitched, mentally tapping out the rhythms he would put into his audition tape.

"We have a decent shot," Charlie finished up his speech when they stepped back into the noisy, crowded band room.

He looked expectantly at Cody. "Yeah, sure," Cody said absently.

"Excellent."

They high fived and followed the other percussionists to their designated band room hangout spot, in the back. The flautists and the clarinets could have the front and the suck up attitudes. Cody liked his background status. It made it easier to zone out during the speech and the reminder to, for the love of Pete, keep the tempo at measure 48 or it would kill the oboe section. They all lined up for the entrance onto the stage and that was that.

Cody didn't lose the tempo and measure 48 passed without notice. Someone was a bit out of tune by the end, but all in all, it was a good concert for a decent high school concert band. Then it was time for the perfunctory end of concert rituals; putting away band equipment, loosening the awful tie, untucking the black collared shirt, and shouldering his gym bag, before reentering the auditorium to join the post-performance atmosphere.

Charlie had joined in the high fiving and animated chatter, and Cody went to join in too. Charlie was focused on the three girls who could lay claim to star of the show. Anissa, Cheryl, and Ruth pulled a good portion of solos and had even accompanied the choir for their shows. Charlie was entirely out of his league, but that wouldn't stop him from trying. Cody interrupted Charlie's attempts to engage one of the girls.

"What are we doing after this? IHOP?" Cody asked, mostly addressing Charlie.

Charlie grimaced. "My parents are waiting for me. You?"

"Naw," Cody said and didn't pursue the topic with anyone else in the group.

Cody didn't want to have to explain why no one came to watch him perform. Instead, he nudged Charlie and waved goodbye. The air outside was cool and the night was clear. Even with the street lights, the moon was bright and he could see the North Star. Without meaning to, Cody ended up jogging home. Jogging produced clarity, like the whole evening had been washed away.

When he reached the uneven grass at the edge of his home, there were lights on. Cody eased the door open, gauging who the occupant of the kitchen was likely to be. His mom was silent in the kitchen, methodically drawing a ragged dishcloth around the sink, loading dishes into the dishwasher, and then moving to the counter. Chloe wasn't home, it was too silent.

Cody could go hop up on the counter and eat straight out of a box of crackers without any radio waves intruding.

"How was your concert?" Emily asked.

"Not bad. No one screwed up."

"I'm sorry no one could make it this time. I ended up closing and your grandma…" Emily trailed off.

Cody was too old not to be aware of his grandmother's inability to keep to a schedule.

"'s okay."

Emily paused.

"No it's not really. I'm proud of you Cody," Emily gave a rare smile, "and there's leftover pizza for you in the fridge."

"Sweet."

Cody scooted off the counter and retrieved the pizza from the fridge. He popped pepperoni and sausage into the microwave before returning to the fridge in a search for parmesan.

"My buddy showed me something cool. It's a competition for, ah, drumming," Cody didn't know why he said it, or why his mouth got suddenly dry.

"Oh," Emily didn't sound too interested, "I thought you just wanted to do marching band."

"Well, yeah. It's just something Charlie was thinking about. No big deal."

Cody took a bite of his zapped pizza too soon and ended up almost spitting out the masticated remains. Emily chuckled a bit when she handed him a glass of water. She kissed Cody on the top of his head, just like she had when he was a little kid. It wasn't too often now she forgot how old he was.

"Go to sleep early, it's still a school night," Emily admonished and went across the hall to her room.

Cody sat alone in the kitchen, the rhythms of Drum Rumble turning into an awesome audition video in his mind. It would be awesome, what he was contemplating. If he wanted to audition. Cody blew on the pizza again, holding it gingerly with singed fingers. It was no big deal. It wasn't like he would win or anything. Cody drummed on the table with his free hand, beginning to think he definitely wouldn't audition. What was the point?


	5. Winter Wind

THEN

Winter Winds

"My head told my heart let love grow / But my heart told my head this time no"

- Mumford & Sons

Emily was awake in a bed she couldn't get used to. The sheets were too slick. Nothing smelled right. Damon was next to her, turned on his side so all she saw was the rise and fall of his back. Damon snored sometimes. He liked having the window open at night. He left his dishes in the sink. Emily hadn't known any of these things two days ago.

All this knowledge only made them more like strangers sharing space. Emily gave up on sleep and headed for the shower, having to duck and weave through clutter to get to the bathroom door. The bathroom was smaller than she had ever experienced. There was hardly room to turn around, but it still felt better than being next to too polite, too reserved Damon, who had been kind. He just wasn't affectionate. She wasn't sure why.

When Emily stepped out of the shower, she used one of Damon's large towels. It was so large she could get it around her waist almost twice. Then she had to go back to the main room to dig through her pile of clothes. Pile. Not drawer. Not closet. Emily's clothes burst out of her suitcase on the floor where she had to step over it to get into bed.

Damon had woken up too. He was fully dressed in the kitchen, brewing coffee. Damon had coffee for breakfast every morning. He caught a glimpse of Emily attempting to simultaneously rifle through her suitcase and hold onto the towel. Then he nearly dropped the pot before abandoning coffee.

"Uh, I gotta make a phone call," was his muttered excuse on his way out the front door.

Emily couldn't remember when or how they had decided to leave Las Vegas and move in together. Chloe had been grim when she had shown up for her stuff, even though she let it happen. Now Emily was starting to think this was all a huge mistake.

Emily finally found an old pair of jeans and a hoodie. She ran a brush through her wet hair and let it hang to dry. It was too quiet in the apartment. This was stupid. She just had to show Damon he could be comfortable.

Emily pulled two cups from the cupboard and poured out the coffee. She maneuvered through the door and onto the landing, juggling her full hands. Damon leaned across the railing, deep in some brooding, tortured artist meditation.

"Hey," Emily interrupted his reverie, holding out a cup.

Damon took it, breathing in the aroma. He sipped without saying anything and Emily felt awkward again. She backed away.

"You don't have to, you know, you can go inside," she said and turned to be invisible inside.

Damon caught the edge of her hand.

"Wait."

She paused.

"This is weird," he blinked and looked down.

"Yeah," Emily agreed, "If you want I could uh, go back to my mom's?"

"Don't do that."

The warmth in his voice surprised Emily. She smiled. Maybe she was crazy. Maybe they'd adjust.

Damon held open the front door for Emily and said, "I've gotta go to work. Thanks for the coffee."

He handed back to the empty cup and ushered Emily back inside before disappearing down the stairs. Emily was back where she started, alone in an apartment where her things didn't fit.


	6. Conversations of Varying Enjoyment

NOW

Several Conversations of Varying Enjoyment

Cody woke up the next morning feeling about the same as usual. The alarm was hardly done howling before Cody's hands and feet hit the floor, stretching and burning through pushups and sit-ups. By the end of his regular set, he was semi-awake and able to stumble into the shower.

Cody liked routine as much as his mother. Neither of them was into surprises. The jarring voices coming from the kitchen when he got out of the shower were definitely a surprise though. Usually Chloe was making breakfast, or burning it if she got distracted. By now his mom should be headed to the restaurant or out jogging. It put the whole rhythm of the morning off.

Cody toweled his dripping hair, trying to ignore the rise and fall of an argument. But he couldn't help it.

"He used to just worship his dad."

"He's fine Mom, leave him alone about it."

A pan banged on the stove, as if someone slammed it down with vigor.

"I just don't understand you two."

"You don't have to."

"A kid needs his dad."

"Like I did, Mom?"

Silence. Emily knew better, but the old wounds still ached. Chloe's feelings were hurt.

"Mom, I'm sorry. Cody has as much of a relationship with his dad as he wants to have."

"He hasn't even seen his father this year," Chloe persisted.

It was strange to hear his self talked about like that. Strange and off-putting and annoying. He'd rather they all just leave him alone. This was his personal business.

"I'm going to work. Please, Mom, do not talk to Cody about it."

"I won't," Chloe said in her wounded voice.

Cody had his shorts and t-shirt on by then and so he weighed the pros and cons of going into the kitchen now that Emily had left. He seriously doubted his ability to get Chloe to stop harping him about his dad. But that's where the bacon was. His stomach rumbled. Dang it.

The key here was speed. Cody already had his backpack on his shoulders when he strode into the kitchen. He crammed a strip of bacon into his mouth and had two more in his hand before Chloe could even get started.

"Cody! Oh, Cody, I was just thinking about you. What do you think about calling up your dad? I bet he'd love to visit over the three day weekend," Chloe beamed, expecting approval for her great idea.

Cody shuffled the eggs and scooped up some straight from the pan.

"He's busy. I mean, I'm busy. School."

Cody sucked down a few more bites while Chloe's face fell. He streaked out the door, away from the whole awful conversation. He wished it was marching band season, when he had to leave at 5 am, before anyone else woke up.

All of these frustrations carried Cody to the bus stop, but they disappeared easily enough when he saw Kelsey Alvarez perched on the curb. She was engrossed in what Cody had once called a comic book. He remembered her frosty glare when she told him off about that. The word was blazoned in his mind now, Kelsey was into manga.

He hovered around her, trying to appear nonchalant in choosing where to stand, not too close and not too far. He didn't know what it was about Kelsey. She was just cute. She wore her short streaky blond hair in pigtails. She liked converse sneakers. And sometimes she rode the bus to school when her mom couldn't take her.

"Hey Kelsey. How's the manga?" He asked, stressing the word manga to show how well he listened.

She barely looked up.

"It's good."

Kelsey went back to her glossy pages. Cody didn't know what to say next. He kicked his sneakers against the curb, racking his brains for something semi-intelligent he could say to get her attention. Nada. There was no bigger loser than Cody Kmetko right now.

"So, uh, I, uh, I like your, I mean, what are you reading?" He stumbled and sweated trying to kick start the conversation.

But this time Kelsey looked up.

"InuYasha. You read it?"

Cody shook his head. And then she was off, telling him all about the story. All he had to do was nod and pay attention until the bus came. When Kelsey stood up and put away the manga, he had one last trick to try.

"InuYasha sounds cool. Maybe I could borrow it sometime?"

"Or you could come over and I could show you my collection," she offered.

Could it really be that easy?

"Yeah. Yeah, let's do that."

Cody's natural reticence hid his excitement. He was excited though. Not about the weird story, but about finally being invited to hang out with Kelsey after some serious hard work during several ego killing conversations.

Cody followed Kelsey up the bus stairs. She sat with her friends and he sat alone. He smiled and looked out the window. Things were looking up.


	7. Blank White Page

THEN

Blank White Page

"You desired my attention but denied my affections"

-Mumford & Sons

Emily walked into the Pizza Shack with her usual serious frown and uncommunicative air, and Razor greeted Emily with his usual sarcastic tones.

"And here's Emily Kmetko, so excited for her shift at the Pizza Shack, she shows up a whole hour early. Now that's dedication people."

Emily glowered at him. Her stomach was doing flip flops under the assault of mingled pizza related smells, and she had only arrived early in order to flee her living situation. But she couldn't afford to miss a shift now anyways. Razor continued flipping and pounding dough while Emily donned her apron.

"Why so grim?" Razor smirked, "Everything good at Casa Damon?"

Emily grimaced, "I don't want to talk about it."

Razor raised his hands in mock surrender. He rearranged his face, widened eyes and jack-o-lantern grin, to lessen the implication of being seen caring about something.

"Just want to know he's treating you right," he said.

Emily caught a whiff of something that had her mentally counting the steps to the bathroom. Forcing down the urge, she smiled.

"Thanks. That's really sweet."

Then she couldn't hold back anymore and had to sidestep customers on her way to the single stall bathroom. Someone might complain but she really did not care. All her life had gone down the toilet anyways, and now she wasn't even able to do her job. Her lousy job that she hated.

Razor was obviously unaccustomed with what to do when a girl returned from puking in the bathroom due to teenage pregnancy, but he rallied when he saw the bright pink spots on her face, all the more stark against the whiteness of feeling sick. He handed her a cup of water, not sure what else to do.

Emily took it and sipped. "The, uh, the smells make me sick," she explained.

"No worries. Take it easy," Razor replied before going back to his pizza creations.

"Ha," Emily scoffed.

Easy wasn't something she was familiar with. This was not an easy shift anyways. Emily lurched and dragged through the endless minutes mostly by staying away from food preparation. Razar helped when he could. Mercifully, after interminable hours, it was closing time. Emily stacked the last chair when Razor flipped the lights.

They walked out together, and Emily dragged back, having only the bus and an uncertain welcome before her.

"Can I offer you a ride home fair lady?" Razor bowed comically.

Emily laughed and agreed, but she was quiet on the way home.

"So really, how's my boy Damon doing?" Razor finally asked.

"You don't talk?"

"Not much lately."

"I think he's gone cold on me," Emily was rueful, "Great timing huh."

"No way," Razor automatically replied, wanting to make her feel better, "he's just really confused."

"I don't think he wants me here."

"Well he came after you didn't he?"

Emily had no answer for that and Razor pulled up to the curb. He reached across Emily to flip open the lock.

"He'll come around," Razor said.

"Thanks for the ride. See you tomorrow?"

"Same time, same place. I'll be the one slinging pizza dough," Razor quipped.

Emily smiled, but it faded by the time she reached the door to Damon's apartment. She hesitated, but there was nowhere else to go. When she went inside, Damon was lounging on the couch, guitar in hand. He sat up abruptly, placed the guitar on the floor, but didn't seem to know what to do next.

It was all just so awkward. Emily saw with exact clarity how much she didn't want to spend another night afraid to move, afraid to change the channel or open a book or breathe loudly. Every move she made rippled and amplified the net they were caught in, strangling ease and freedom. Emily couldn't take it for one more second.

"This isn't working Damon," almost involuntary, the words hung in the air like black powder.

Damon wasn't unguarded at the best of times, but now his face was at its most thunderous.

"I didn't exactly ask for this," he shot out.

"You think I did?"

"You push me away and then out of the blue..., Emily, I swear I'm trying my best."

"This is your best?" Emily couldn't help scoffing.

"What, should I just suddenly be in love with you again?" Damon asked, his eyes burning.

The volume steadily rose, releasing a month's worth of pent up explosion. They argued until there was no beginning and no end, only these two locked in a duel to see who could inflict the most pain upon the other.

Eventually Emily's foot came up against her suitcase and she upped the ante.

"I don't even have a place to put my clothes," Emily retorted, kicking the sloppy suitcase wedged between bed and dresser.

Damon strode to the tiny closet and began ripping shirts from hangers, flinging haphazardly. It was an insult now to offer her the space. It was petulant.

"There, is that what you want?" Damon snarled when the closet was empty and surrounded by misshapen mounds.

"This isn't what I want," Emily said.

"What the hell can I do Emily? It's never good enough for you."

"I've given up my dreams! I've given up everything," she choked out.

"We are going nowhere. My album is going nowhere. I am going nowhere," Damon ranted and shook, "Once a loser, always a loser."

Emily didn't answer. The slam of the door behind her told Damon everything he needed to know.

**A/N: Posting during Hurricane Sandy :) Great time to get some writing done, isn't it!**


	8. A Proposed Dance and a Drum Solo

NOW

A Proposed Dance and a Drum Solo

Cody's last class of the day was concert band. The benefit of this arrangement was that he could hang out after class while waiting for Chloe to pick him up. Despite the reminder call during lunch, he didn't have high hopes.

Cody wasn't the only one who enjoyed the band room afterhours club. Mr. Spaulding puttered around in his office and the classical music he enjoyed wafted over the room. Scattered groups, little pairs and trios, draped around chairs and the piano. One by one they'd drift away, often leaving Cody as the final remnant.

Charlie loped in from his usual errand and leapt up the graded levels to the back where Cody was. Charlie's ever present rhythm presented itself in the way he flung his bag to the ground and cradled two precious cans. Ever since the vending machines were taken out, Charlie had taken to keeping six packs of their favorites in his locker and he treated them as if they were contraband on the level of illegal substances.

Charlie kept his eyes on the office, covertly smuggling the second can over to Cody. Cody popped open the tab, effectively ending all attempts at secrecy, but no one cared. Charlie just liked to play secret agent. The Mountain Dew wasn't ice cold, but it was good.

"What do you think of Cheryl?" Charlie asked noncommittally.

Cody mulled over the question. "She's a little bit..." he trailed off.

"Like a goddess," Charlie finished.

Cody acquiesced without argument, though the word he would have chosen was prissy.

"I think I'm going to ask her to the Sweethearts Dance?" Charlie asked for permission.

"That is a stupid name for a dance," Cody dodged.

"Yeah," Charlie agreed and chugged his soda, secrecy be damned.

"But I think she'd like to go with me," Charlie pressed in all seriousness.

"Okay dude," Cody inwardly sighed.

He personally thought Charlie was on a suicide mission, but at least he had the guts to ask. Briefly he pictured asking Kelsey to the dance, but unless he was a comic book character, she probably wouldn't even look up. Just for a second he pictured it. It could be nice though to get all dressed up and dance close in a badly decorated school gym. Cody clearly had to abandon this line of thought. Instead he focused on what he did best, experimenting with rhythm.

Charlie looked up and gave the performance his full attention. He was rapt. As always, Cody was impervious to the audience he captivated, but everyone in the room stopped to listen. Even Mr. Spaulding looked up from his computer and stuck his head out of his office to evaluate his best drummer.

No one noticed Chloe standing in the doorway with her purse in the crook of her elbow. She beamed at her grandson, who was a star and didn't even know it. Cody finished, faltering a little on the final roll. It bothered him, but no one else.

The band room was used to displays of brilliance from the quiet boy in the back and everyone just went back to their own interests. Mr. Spaulding ducked back into his office, considering teacher related things of his own.

Chloe smacked her hands together, applauding. Cody saw his grandmother and dropped the sticks to pick up his Mountain Dew and backpack. There was only a finite amount of time before Chloe embarrassed him, so he had to hurry.

Charlie wasn't helpful. "Dude, that's fantastic."

He raised his fist for Cody to bump. "Is that for your audition?" he asked.

"Maybe. See ya," Cody muttered.

Cody hustled Chloe away from the band room and prayed for an empty breezeway on the way to the car. Chloe managed to get all the way to the car before pestering Cody.

"Now sweetie, what was your friend talking about back there?"

"Just this drumming competition."

"Well are you going to audition?"

"Maybe. But Mom wasn't into the idea."

Chloe got that look in her eye. "You leave your mother to me. You just go ahead and audition," she said.

Cody didn't reply. He watched the passive landscape pass by and he dreamed.


End file.
